No Path Chosen

Leon's shoulder still burned.

Not from fire—his flames were part of him now, flowing through him like blood—but from the jolt of lightning that had slammed him into the concrete. His thoughts kept circling back to the man's face: twisted by old scars, shadowed by something colder than hatred.

But it was his words that echoed louder than anything else.

"You're not the only one this world forgot."

The man retrieved his rifle. Electricity crackled violently across the metal, dancing around him like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

Leon staggered to his feet, dust falling from his coat. His eyes landed on the scammer's body—motionless, blackened from the shock.

Dead.

Leon's breath hitched.

"H-Hey... that man is dead," he said, voice trembling, barely a whisper.

"He got what he deserved," the man replied, leveling the rifle. "And now, it's your turn."

Leon didn't wait.

The gun fired, the shot tearing through the air—missing by inches as Leon dove behind a pile of crates, heart pounding like a war drum.

Across the room, Harry—hidden until now—let out a yelp of panic. He bolted into the shadows, running blindly. But the warehouse was a maze, and he chose the wrong path.

"Harry!" Lucian called, but the boy was already gone.

Lucian didn't hesitate. He chased after him, his footsteps echoing into the hollow dark.

They ran deeper into the warehouse.

The light grew dimmer. The walls around them were covered in broken musical instruments—violins with snapped strings, crushed brass horns, and shattered drums—scattered among torn, dust-covered sheets of music. Notes and melodies frozen in time, long forgotten. The air felt heavy, and a strange dissonance hummed in the silence.

It sent a shiver down Lucian's spine.

He pushed it aside.

He caught up to Harry, who was frantically trying to find another way out.

"Harry! It's okay—it's me," Lucian said, gently grabbing his shoulders. "This isn't the way out. We have to go back."

Harry panted, his eyes wild—until he recognized Lucian's voice. He began to calm.

Then—

A sound.

A voice.

Faint, muffled, desperate.

"Help... someone help me..."

It came from a large chest tucked in the corner of the room.

They froze.

Both stared at it. Neither moved for a moment.

Then, slowly—drawn by a mix of fear and curiosity—they approached.

Lucian reached for the rusted metal pipe he'd picked up earlier. His grip tightened. The chest shook again, another muffled cry escaping from within.

Without a word, Lucian lifted the pipe and brought it down hard.

CLANG.

The rusted latch broke open with a sharp crack. The lid creaked, hinges groaning in protest as it slowly lifted.

A boy spilled out, gasping for breath.

His hair was a messy shock of deep blue, damp with sweat. He coughed violently, each breath sounding like it was his first in hours—maybe longer.

"Huuk... huuk..." He clutched his chest, eyes wide and unfocused.

Harry and Lucian instinctively stepped back, startled.

"Th-thank you," the boy gasped between coughs. "You saved me... I thought I was going to die in there…"

Lucian knelt beside him, cautious but calm. "Are you okay? Did they kidnap you?"

The boy nodded weakly. "Yeah… you're right. I—I was at Cirquefaire last night, just having fun. Then… everything went dark. I woke up here." He looked up at them, voice still shaky. "I'm Servin."

Lucian gave him a quick nod. "I'm Lucian. But we'll talk more later—right now, we need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

"Yeah… let's go," Servin said, his voice still unsteady.

Harry moved behind Lucian, glancing nervously over his shoulder as they began to retreat from the eerie room.

Back to Leon.

He was still pinned behind cover, heart pounding in his chest. The crackle of electricity hummed in the air—too close, too constant.

He had been waiting—hoping the man would run out of bullets.

But something wasn't right.

He frowned. Wait… no reloading sounds...

"He's not reloading... Is that thing drawing power from him?" he muttered under his breath.

He peeked around the crates—just in time to see electricity swirl through the rifle again.

The man wasn't using bullets.

He was fusing his power with the weapon.

"How long are you gonna keep hiding back there?" the man called out, voice dripping with contempt.

Leon's thoughts raced. He can channel power directly into weapons…? That changes everything.

No choice left. I had to close the distance.

He took a breath, crouched lower, and began to circle around—quiet, measured, tense. When the man stepped forward to get a clearer shot, Leon seized the moment.

He lunged.

A blur of motion. Fire surging in his veins.

Leon tackled him, knocking the rifle loose and sending it clattering to the floor.

The man growled and grabbed Leon by the collar with inhuman speed, raising a fist crackling with voltage. Leon twisted, slammed a knee into the man's shoulder, and used the momentum to flip himself free. He landed on his feet, already charging heat into his fist.

With a roar, he struck—

A flaming punch, straight into the man's lower abdomen.

The blow ignited his coat and sent a shockwave of heat through the air—but the man barely flinched.

He hissed through his teeth, enduring the burn—and retaliated.

With a snarl, he summoned lightning into his hand, forming it into a jagged claw.

The claw tore through him.

Pain exploded through Leon's chest as the electrified claw slammed into him, lifting him off his feet and hurling him across the warehouse. He crashed to the ground with a sickening thud, gasping for air, muscles spasming from the shock.

He tried to move—but his body refused.

Through his blurred vision, he saw the man advancing—step by step, sparks trailing behind him like a predator closing in.

Leon gritted his teeth. Not like this… I can't…

The man raised his clawed hand again, lightning flaring bright—ready to strike the final blow.

Leon shut his eyes. This was it.

Then—

A torrent of water blasted from the shadows, crashing into the back of the man's head with a deafening splash. His body lurched forward, the electricity sputtering out as he collapsed, stunned and unconscious.

Leon blinked in disbelief, gasping for breath as water spread across the floor around him.

Footsteps splashed closer.

Lucian skidded into view, wide-eyed.

Behind him stood Servin—his hand outstretched, water still dripping from his palm, steam rising where it had met scorched concrete.

"I... I got him," Servin said, breathless.

Leon looked up at the boy, eyes narrowed in confusion—and awe.

"You're waterborn?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Servin nodded slowly, then offered his hand.

"Let's get out of here."

"That face… I recognize it. That's Bluebreaker," said Servin, his voice low.

"You know him?" Lucian asked, eyes narrowing.

"Only the tale, not the man. He robbed a bank… took a lightning blast straight to the chest—and lived."

"Let's just get out of here. I wanna go home," Harry muttered.

Leon remained silent. The sting of failure clung to him—he hadn't won, hadn't endured.

He'd been saved.

And that felt like losing.

They had escaped Gloryrail.

Now they rested by a quiet riverbank, the distant hum of the city replaced by the soft rush of water and the occasional breeze stirring the trees.

"That was terrifying," Harry said, flopping onto the grass. "Let's never do that again."

"We did beat them, though," Lucian replied with a faint smirk.

Leon knelt at the water's edge, silently rinsing the burn marks that still clung to his skin. Steam rose where the water touched scorched flesh.

"Anyway," Harry said, sitting up and turning to the boy beside him, "Servin, right? I'm Harry."

Servin gave a small nod, lowering himself cross-legged onto the ground. "Thank you… for helping me," he said quietly.

"And I'm Leon," Leon added, adjusting his shirt with a wince. "Where are you from? And why did they kidnap you?"

Servin hesitated, eyes lingering on the river. "I'm from Brightmoor. It's... near the city center—"

Before he could finish, Harry burst out laughing.

"Haha—Brightmoor? That's where the rich folk live. What, are you saying you're—?"

"You're from the Morvain family, aren't you?" Lucian interrupted, his voice sharper now, eyes narrowing.

Harry's laughter cut off immediately. He stared at Servin, stunned.

"Wait… what?" Leon blinked. "Morvain? What's that?"

Lucian kept his eyes fixed on Servin. "The Morvains are an old bloodline. Pure waterborn. Wealthy. Influential. And if you're from that family, then that means..."

He paused.

"You're the son of Jerad Morvain."

Harry gasped. "Jerad Morvain? The Silver Current?"

His voice trembled with a mix of awe and disbelief. "He's a legend—a swordmaster who moved like flowing water and struck like lightning. People say his blade shimmered when he fought… like it was made of the river itself."

Servin looked down, silent.

The weight of his name rippled through the group like a tide none of them were ready for.

"Yeah… I was kidnapped last night at the Cirquefaire," Servin explained, his voice low. "I was about to enter a haunted house attraction when I noticed someone following me. I thought I lost them in the crowd… but they followed me inside and caught me off guard."

He paused, drawing a shaky breath.

"They weren't the ones from the warehouse. It was a different group. Three guys—looked like weaklings, honestly—but there was a fourth one. Strong. Wore an owl mask."

Leon's eyes narrowed. "Owl mask? I saw someone wearing one in the warehouse, too."

Lucian's expression darkened. "If they're showing up in different places... this might be more than a coincidence. Possibly an organized gang. We could be in serious trouble."

He stood up. "Let's head home. We can talk more there."

Everyone nodded and began walking.

As they followed the river path, Servin glanced at them. "Wait… you guys live together? Are you siblings or something? You all look about the same age."

"All three of us are nine," Leon said. "We live in an orphanage."

"Really?" Servin blinked. "I'm nine too. Maybe… maybe we can be friends?"

Leon gave him a grin. "What do you mean maybe? I thought we already became friends the moment we met."

Servin tried to play it cool, but the smile that spread across his face gave him away. "Ah… really? That's... good," he said, trying to hide his excitement.

Harry, walking behind them, tilted his head. "Hey, if you're from the Morvain family, shouldn't you have, like… bodyguards or something?"

Servin scratched his head. "Ah… about that. I, uh... ran away."

"Ehh?!" everyone exclaimed at once.

"Wait, you ran away? Why?" Lucian asked.

Servin sighed. "I just... needed a break. I was tired of being locked into nonstop training. My family expects me to master water techniques perfectly—and quickly. It's relentless. I wanted to breathe for once."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Even a rich kid wants to run from paradise, huh?"

Leon gave him a light smack on the back of the head. "Watch it, man."

"Hey, I was just sayin'—" Harry rubbed his head, frowning.

Leon turned back to Servin, his tone softer. "It's okay. Come back with us. You can stay at our place. There's one more bed in our room."

Servin blinked. "You sure?"

"Yeah. We've got space… and you've got nowhere else to go, right?"

Servin nodded slowly.

"Then it's settled," Lucian said.

They kept walking—four boys, each with their own burdens, now moving forward together.